


The Song I Will Never Sing

by Fernstrike



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Poetry, Regret, Self-Pity, Unrequited Love, What's new, just daeron generally being sad because he felt too much and made bad decisions, read between the lines for some slightly inappropriate business
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 17:30:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8455474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fernstrike/pseuds/Fernstrike
Summary: Ages from now, Daeron remains in the East, and he remembers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm slowly working my way through writing prompts, and I found this one: _How do you feel when you love someone who does not love you back?_
> 
> I instantly thought of Daeron. This happened in under an hour because of that rush of inspiration. I hope you enjoy it!

I remember this —

Some wield swords and some wield bows;  
Some make diadems to capture stars  
In forsaken gems; and some yet still  
Make rings to capture minds and souls.

But I am the wordsmith, the song-smith,  
The letter-maker - a creator of soft power.  
Mine is the province of the heart -  
Of sentiment and gentle art.

I can spin love’s supple body with words  
And speak its language with a lute;  
Can brush its hair with sound  
And stitch its girdle with a melody.

But brutes of dirt can come within  
My Girdle here, slip through the net,  
Get blessing and joy that ought to’ve been mine,  
As if claiming love given could never be sin.

I remember her —

She did not need cursed gems to capture  
Silver stars; they knotted themselves  
In her hair, clung to the night that  
Fell, day or dark, down her pale back.

And when she looked at me - she smiled -  
The world was a song I could never sing;  
It had me weeping, slipping on spilled milk -  
But she never slipped - she danced springing to my songs.

Then she made a mistake, and I made one too -  
And I think she knew, and could almost absolve me.  
The next time, I saved her from herself.  
It was love and fear, not jealousy.

But she hated me, and the night was starless,  
And the love was voiceless and hearts grew cold.  
She broke the chains and fled beyond,  
For that lowly soul, he meant _that much_.

And I chased - there were wolves - there was darkness -  
I ran, and I tried to find her light -  
And I lost her - I lost me - I lost my way -  
The mountains were blue with the dying day.  
And I suppose I'd never meant that much anyway.

I remember —

I am the wordsmith, the song-smith,  
The heart-breaker - a creator of misery.  
I sing beside dark lakes and cold shores now,  
And the stars wheel nightly overhead, un-eternal,

Mocking me.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
